


The Smell of Smoke

by Adeline_Hatter



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Dream Sharing, F/M, Falling In Love, Fire, Foreshadowing, Healing, Insecurity, Language of Flowers, Moving On, Nudity, Past Relationship(s), Period Romance Drama, Post-Canon, References to Jane Austen, Reluctant Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Timeline is bit confusing, Trauma, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 18:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20746838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adeline_Hatter/pseuds/Adeline_Hatter
Summary: The reluctance to grow comes from feeling insecure in your place, your mind and the lack of hope you find yourself without in times when you need it most.Elain and Lucien were so different and yet the same in many ways, sometimes you are just too close to see where the Cauldron is mistaken...And where it never has been such.





	The Smell of Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> This is big and long, and I don't know when the next chapter will come out so be patient, enjoy.

_ She sat down on the bank of the river, and with her head in her hands, she cried. _

_ She cried until she laughed. _

_ She noticed the cold began to fade, warmed by the light of a burning bridge.   
  
_ _ \- JM Storm. _

* * *

They say that she will one day lose the sense of time, that she will no longer recognise it as the seasons pass with just a sparring glance to the world around her, that she will no longer mourn what she once had, that she will lose the feeling of desire for her life that is now sapped out and gone. 

But even close to more than two years following those facts, all Elain can feel is _ Time _she feels it passing all around her, she felt like an hourglass placed on it’s side, stagnant, never moving whilst every other one was turned over on its head in order for it to keep time.

She seems to be the only thing staying put in a world that is constantly moving. 

However, she has learnt that keeping peace is better than nothing, is better than chaos, she first learnt this as a child from her Mother and Father, from the fights that Nesta always pulled her away from hearing, that Feyre was too young to remember. 

She had always been the _ Mediator _between her sisters, but now she finds herself without one, or a plan at all.

Now she found herself in a world where time seemed to move for everyone but her. 

* * *

  


In her dreams she watches a woman made of fire die in front of her in what seems to be a repeating notion, she is extinguished by any means, by pairs of hands that hover with the items built to murder her in them. 

There is water, there is a rug, nothing to fuel her, only to kill her. 

The woman of fire reaches out to her, getting closer each time but then she is extinguished again, Elain reaches out to her as well, but nothing saves her. 

She cannot decide if this is a prediction or a nightmare that belongs to someone at the other end of Prythian.

* * *

On days where she is not needed, Elain closes her eyes, puts her wards up stronger than ever and looks for that small red string that lies within the darkness, standing out against the ripples of thought. 

She doesn’t touch it, just kneels down to stare at it, it’s usually moved whenever she goes looking for it, but it doesn’t disappear, if she wills it, it comes to sit on her pinkie finger in a pretty red bow, but she can always find it. 

There is never the desire to untie it either, she would just stare at it when it was on her finger, she wondered what would have happened if she’d met… _ Him, _whilst she was human, would that connection still exist? Would it be faint… Feyre and Rhys both mentioned something about it being so when Feyre’s bones could still be so easily broken. 

She wants to ask about it, but there never seemed to be the time with them, so ultimately, everytime, Elain chooses to push her questions to the back of her mind. 

Once or twice she contemplates tugging on the string, to see if the person on the other end will respond in kind. 

But she doesn’t touch it. 

* * *

The Gardens are hers.

This is a fact that is not stated, is not spoken, but the moment she started she would never stop growing. 

She loves feeling the dirt on her fingers, but now that was a bit overwhelming when she didn’t wear gloves, the sun on her face felt the same and she would never surrender to losing it to the shade, despite her wardrobe full of sunhats purchased by Feyre for her to Garden in, she never wears them, it doesn’t suit it and she relishes in the warm buttery sunlight. 

“Good afternoon.” His voice is quiet when he appears and she smiles up at Azriel despite the shadow he casts across her, his hands are pressed behind his back and he smiles down at her, “How are you feeling?”

It’s normal practice for him to pop in to see her a few times a day unless he’s busy off elsewhere, “I’m feeling well, I would feel better if you’d take two steps to the right thought…” He complies with her soft request and the sun is back on her face, “Thank you.” 

He nods once, a soft bob of his head, “I came to ask if you have any letters you’d like me to pass along to Cassian, he’s in town.” 

“Oh, perhaps… Though I don’t believe Nesta wants to hear from me.” She looked away from him, back down at her hands buried deep in the soil, the earth, making her feel at home, she softly willed that something beautiful would grow, “I haven’t heard back from the last one.” 

He bows his head, a small note that he would depart out of the sunlight, back to the shadows that he found more comforting, “He isn’t leaving until tuesday, so plenty of time to change your mind.” 

“Thank you for telling me.” She keeps her voice softer this time, before he is gone and Elain is left once again to herself in the sunlight of the Gardens. 

* * *

  


There are times that Elain knows without a doubt that she isn’t actually welcome in the world and family Feyre built for herself, despite how much it looks and feels like the opposite. 

They are free, open and easy with their smiles and their laughter, but she doesn’t feel like this is truly home, not at all. 

She is however, supposed to be the sweet, gentle, _ nice _sister after all is said and done. 

But that does not mean she doesn’t long to say exactly what runs through her mind like Nesta does, like Feyre does. 

She wants to tell on secrets, to let loose the other things she’s seen in her mind’s eye, for the destruction and reconstruction of the cauldron did not take away her sight. 

It made it stronger, clearer, there was no one dictating what she saw and what she didn’t.

No one telling her what she knew. 

* * *

  


She doesn’t dislike him, she doesn’t believe him to be undesirable either, because the fact remains that he is- Like most of the High Fae -impeccably beautiful, it’s the right word, _ Beautiful. _

At least in her memory, he sits in autumn’s colours, but there is something that shines in him… A halo of sunshine around his head, it is at once both a prediction and a fantasy in her mind’s eye.

Firelight, sunset…. Daylight. 

Glowing in effulgence, golden light mixed with hair the same red as marigolds. 

She has some growing in the Garden, curled up into the sun as if it is their rightful place.  
  
The Sunlight is kind to her… The Sunset is not. 

* * *

It is all prediction as she turns to Feyre in the evening as they lose the sunlight, she takes her sister’s hands in her own and tells her what this sunset has shown her. 

“The first will die.” 

Her little sister’s eyebrows furrow, confusion alighting in her eyes, before Elain lets go of her hands again, to return them to her lap. 

Elain thinks about the world at large as Feyre stares at her, keeps staring, always staring, confusion, mirth, murky unsure paths that lay before them both.

But Elain is sure on this simple sentence, because the first heir of the Night Court shall die before they even know about its existence. 

* * *

As always it is Azriel who corners her a few days later, “Did you know?” He asks as the Healer walks down the stairs before them, shaking her head at Rhys in sadness. 

“The sunset showed me.” Was all she could bring herself to reply. 

Elain watches the High Lord start up the stairs from the sette in the parlour, there is grief already forming around him, she can see it, she hates it. 

Her fingernails bite into her palms. 

“I would like to send a letter to Nesta.” 

* * *

  


Feyre does not leave her bed for two weeks, nor does Nesta reply to her letter.

She wants to say something, apologise but she cannot find the words to say, to undo the prediction, the certainty, there are no wishes left. 

Elain thinks about Mates as she watches Rhys finally escort her sister from their room, setting her down at the dinner table, there is sadness in his eyes but a kind of clear certainty, his hand doesn’t leave Feyre’s once, some unspoken conversation thrumming between them.

She feels her sister’s gaze first, then she hears the words croaked out, “You told me.” She says to her, before looking down at her plate of food and starting to eat just a little. 

Guilt is now a feeling Elain knows too well for comfort. 

* * *

It takes two months, two months before she can already hear Feyre and Rhys discussing trying again. 

To Elain’s knowledge, children for High Fae are tricky, less so for Mated pairs, but still tricky, she overhears so many conversations she knows she is not meant to, so she doesn’t speak a word. 

But it makes her long for something, long for her mortal life, makes her peer at the spot she hid the iron ring in her room, it makes her think about what she’d be doing now if all had gone to plan. 

That dream is shattered when she realises she would be dead. 

* * *

_ Challenges are what makes life interesting and overcoming them is what makes life meaningful. _

_ _ \- Joshua J Marine _ _

* * *

The sunlight melts the morning frost and dew relatively quickly every year that passes along the coastline of Prythian, the breezes that waft up from the sea down below the cliff side makes things a little easier at the same time.

It is a combined effort as winter turns to spring, as spring yields to summer, before they enter into the autumn, as the sun rises and sets day after day, as each minute rolls into a second later than the hour and Lucien feels all of it, as if time is flowing in his mind’s eye. 

This is accompanied by Vassa shoving whatever kind of alcohol she can get her hands on into his hands and telling him she can’t drink alone or else it’s pitiful, even though by the time he’s taken his second sip, Jurian has fetched the bottle off of her and shoved her over his shoulder to take her off to actually do some work. 

“Why is he a hardass?” She questions to him, but continues to read the report across from him at the table anyway, “One would think he’d resurrected just to be annoying.” 

He made a small sound of agreement, but continued shifting through the other requests from members of the small alliance they’d been able to gather. 

“Can’t we escape and get drunk?” Vassa chucked her hair over her shoulder, “I’m dying in this house I want to get out, but apparently because I’m at the forefront of fixing this part of the land it’s impossible for a break.” 

This makes him pause, to look up from the papers to stare at her, “You got drunk last night and managed to gather everyone in a dance around the fire? You almost burnt the manor down?”  
  
She doesn’t look up as she replies with, “Details.” And a dismissive little wave as she turns the page, “This Spymaster has really neat handwriting.” Her mutter didn’t go unnoticed, “Now come on, stop moping and go find me at least a little bit of wine whilst I work?”

“I’m not moping.” 

“Yes, you fucking are.” Now she meets his gaze, “Have been since the last Solstice you went back to the night court, it’s almost _ November _Lucien, honestly you’d think she kicked you between the legs.” 

He flushes, “She did nothing of the sort.” 

“Okay, so did her sisters shove their feet up your arse-”  
  
“ _ Your Majesty.” _

Vassa raises her eyebrows, “You clearly like her.”  
  
“I barely know her, she barely knows me and we are both heartbroken from previous affairs.”

He shuffled his paper, staking them, “Maybe there’s another person who’ll she’ll end up with, maybe I will end up with someone else too, it can be rejected.” 

Her smile was bright as she linked her fingers together and placed her elbows on the table, “Well, firstly, whilst it may be the case for her, you yourself can’t really find love when you spend time around Exiles.”

“I want to say a really rude thing to you, but it would be in bad spirits.” He states instead of the retort that brought up her ex-lover who now lay dead because of her fellow queens, “I’m going to bed.” 

She waves him off, before stopping, there seems to be a decision being made in her mind’s eye as she watches him stand, “Before you retire, could you draft a letter to the night court? I would quite like to see Velaris and talk to the High Lady before I’m pulled back, hopefully I can come with you when you return to them.”

“Of course.” He turned to go before he himself paused, “I’m just your glorified secretary at this point aren’t I?”

Vassa grins, picking the report up again, “You said it not me.” 

* * *

He dreams of iron rings. 

They are big enough to walk through, one after the other, he hops through them, he jumps through others, they slowly start to get smaller each mile he goes until ultimately he is on his stomach and crawling along the floor to get through them. 

Still, ever smaller they get, until they are so small they pinch, he doesn’t know why he moves forward, even as his skin stings against the metal and they start to bruise. He just _ knows _there is something worth it on the other side, someone’s hope for a better life, a better outcome. 

There has to be something on the other side or else is it really worth it?

His nose wrinkles with a smell that takes him far too long to place, before he turns to see the pathway he’d come burning up in short bursts of flames. 

Lucien cries out as the floor gives way and burns beneath him. 

For a second he falls, before a hand wraps around his to catch him and he looks to see- 

* * *

His window is open wide, bashing against the outside wall in the wind, autumn rain falls in sheets outside it and for a moment everything is still. 

Then he sits up, pushes his covers back and walks to the window, mind racing, heart pounding. 

Someone had been calling in his dream, so muffled, but then that hand- Who had it belong- Elai- _ No. _

He presses his face into his hands, determined to stop thinking about it. 

But then, it crosses his mind so carefully, so softly. 

_ That wasn’t my nightmare was it? _

* * *

He doesn’t know much about mating bonds, but that’s because he can’t name a single mated couple he’s known for most of his life, there weren’t any present in the Autumn Court as far as he could remember. 

There wouldn’t be any research material here for him in the Mortal lands though, no, he’d have to locate it once back in the Night Court, as granted with permissions to seek travel with Queen Vassa and Jurian in hand. 

That was still a few days off, leaving his mind to rest, to have the long periods of time pass with replaying the memory of that nightmare, over and over again. 

It most certainly wasn’t his, but he didn’t know if dream sharing was part of the deal, especially at this distance, maybe it was unfamiliar and it had been his own mind’s concoction of a painting so far from perfect it only existed as terrifying. 

But then he thinks about her hand, warm like she wasn’t a figment of this dreamland, soft like cotton, porcelain with flushes that blended in like peach skins. 

He shakes his head, it didn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it would never matter. 

Because that was the path he’d decided not to take. 

* * *

That night, when Vassa swoops into the house in a wash of pink satin he isn’t prepared for when she scoops up the confirmation that she can come to the Night Court and does the smallest, yet unmistakable, dance of joy he has never had the displeasure of seeing. 

Jurian watches her over the top of his book, although, he decides not to mention it, as the mortal man keeps a poker face that Lucien almost envies as the Queen spins in a plume of pink, for a moment, in a trick of the fading sunlight, he almost thinks the man smiles quietly. 

Excitement laces the Queen’s features together in a wide smile, “I’m going to start packing! You two find wine!” She yelled and then she was gone, long red hair waving behind her as she rushed forwards, leaving the reply on the hallway table as she went. 

“One of these days,” Jurian began, “that woman is going to burn a building down with her excitement.” 

Lucien wanted to mutter that he didn’t sound like that wasn’t a desirable outcome, nor did he mutters about the slight lilt of affection in the soldier’s voice. 

But, nevertheless, he was in agreement.

* * *

_ They parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again. _

_ _ \- Jane Austen _ _

* * *

She avoids going out by herself if she can help it, but today… Today she steps outside the door to meet the swirling, bustling streets of Velaris in the evenings because something is growing so stuffy about the manor, no matter how large it is, or how vast her gardens seem. 

Night is falling and Velaris comes alive with each ray of sunlight that disappears behind the mountains, she’d never seen many cities in her lifetime, vague memories of merchant’s houses in larger towns along the coastline with her Father and sisters persists a bit when she looks around. 

Elain, for a moment feels a bit of uncertainty, she has been out in the streets alone before buying some gardening supplies, but never ventured out after dark. 

Though this time, something pulls her outwards beyond the stuffy, close kept walls she now called home. 

_ Do I call it home? _Breaks into her head before she can stop it and she contemplates this for a moment, before waving it away, it was not a thought for today, anywhere was home as long as she had warmth, security and her sisters. 

The money of course, didn’t hurt. 

She can hear the sound of a band playing in the streets a few blocks off and something veers her towards it, there is laughter as she gets closer and she spies a pair of fae as they share a kiss. 

Elain turns away, not because she is out of depths or has never seen displays of affection, but because there is a thread in her that speaks of privacy, even in the middle of a bustling street. 

Her ears peak at every small sound, but she finds her senses are not over stimulated the further she gets towards the band playing, it sounds so jolly and she registers there are a few people dancing as the sun all but disappears to give way to the most perfect of starry nights. 

She stares upwards for a moment, the lights of the city never ever impeding the view above them, although whilst she likes to look at the stars above her, she will always prefer a plain sunny pale blue sky. 

There is, quite suddenly, a tug to her right and she turns, though no one has touched her, nor can she see anyone she knows, so she turns back towards the band playing, the crowd dancing as she reaches the edge of it. 

Red, shown by faelight sprays out of a braid as a woman makes a turn on her toes and the crowd gasps as she does so, stealing the hand of a male to lead him into the dance, he is tall and blonde and all but smitten with her upon his first glance. 

Elain within a second realises that she knows her as Queen Vassa lets go of the male and pulls a female in next.

Moments pass until there is more than twenty fae and high fae alike dancing as the band builds the tune into something high and merry. 

A tug strikes again at her right but she ignores it, because now she knows she can, he has, after all, been ignoring her just as willfully over this last year.

But, even against her better judgement she turns her gaze out of the corner of her eye, away from the dancing Queen who seems to get faster as the crowd begins to clap, excitement starting to trudge through them all. 

She sees him standing there, next to who could only be Jurian, hair tied back, those a few strands fall like fire across his forehead and her heart stutters on its own accord as he seems to sense her gaze and looks around at the crowd, trying to find the owner of the glance.

Elain takes a step back, draws her cloak’s hood tighter around her face and turns away from the crowd, away from Vassa who spins and smiles, bright blue eyes almost ablaze in the fae light. 

She has errands to run, there is no time for her to stand there, gawking at a man with russet eyes and a Queen who seems to enjoy the freedom of a crowd above all else. 

There is no time for her to wish for a friend, it won’t come true of course, so she walks away, ignoring the start of aching loneliness entering her bones.

* * *

There is peace and quiet in the dress shop she enters, away from the bustle of the street outside. 

Faelight lights up the room and the dress forms with gowns on them, the beaded curtain at the back of the shop behind the counter is made up of small glass spheres in different shades of blue, contrasted with the dark oak walls of the shop, it looks almost like water in a forest. 

She finds her fingers tracing the neckline of a blush coloured gown made of velvet that was soft on her senses and calming to stroke slowly as she found the middle of the sweetheart neckline.

Marigold red echoes into her mind tied into a ponytail, one russet eye, the other a golden eye with a scar running through it, angular jawline, sharp but not unforgiving, she’d seen him smile once, it had been small but… Warm. 

“Oh!” She turns quickly as the shop girl comes out of the backroom, “Lady Archeron, you gave me a fright, I didn’t hear you come in!” 

Elain blinks at the young fae, “I’m rather quiet, I do apologise.” 

“No apologies needed my lady.” Her name escapes Elain, although she knows she’s heard it before in the past, she moves around the counter, “Is there anything I can help you with? Are you ordering a new dress perhaps? Word is the Mortal Queen Vassa is due to arrive in Velaris soon enough.” 

Oh, she likes chatter, her hair is short, blonde and curly, briefly, Elain thinks of Mor, but the shop girl’s eyes are a different colour, as is her skin, “No new dresses today.” Is what she chooses to say ultimately, it almost slips now that Vassa is already here, that she was dancing in the square with her knight and stolen messenger. 

“I see, just browsing then?” The girl is obviously a little deflated, but Elain cannot, for the life of her, find a reason to care as to why, still, she softly nods her head once, before leaving the blush velvet to take a turn about the room and stare at every other dress.  
  
Shiny, pretty delicate things, were so much easier to hold and ensure after all. 

* * *

It takes them ten minutes to wade through the emassed crowd of fae and high fae to reach Vassa and drag her out. 

She protests the whole way out, “I was having fun, they were having fun too!” Her voice is level, annoyed but diplomatic as she is all but pushed down the pathway, Lucien can almost hear her eyeroll, “At least it’s continuing behind me, that much is comforting.” 

“You could have been recognised.” Jurian states plainly, but offers her his arm, which she takes without much complaint, it was one of the things that stuck out between the differences of mortal and fae political court manners, someone escorting someone else through the streets. 

In comparison his arms feel cold so he links them behind his back as he walks. 

“I was recognised.” Vassa says it nonchalantly, to the point that there’s trouble brewing on the tip of her tongue, her smile is easy, but both of them watch as it turns downwards, eyes hardening a bit, “By a pair of some very lonely, but lovely eyes.” 

Jurian sighs, making a little grunt that Lucien can translate flawlessly- _ Here we go again _-in terms of the romance contained in the Queen they walked with. 

“Oh don’t do that, I don’t mean it romantically.” She protests, her eyes rolling again as she uses her free hand to shift her hair out of her face, “How could I? It was Elain watching me after all.” 

With those words, she releases her grip on Jurian’s arm and walked a little faster, she’s shorter than both of them so it only takes two long steps for them to catch up. 

“What do you mean it was Elain?” So, the tug earlier, the feeling of being watched hadn’t been his imagination, but Vassa doesn’t answer, just charges on, smiling as if she’s keeping a secret to herself, one she’s unwilling to share. 

He stalls in the middle of the street as Jurian moves to catch up with her. 

_ Elain was nearby. _

He knew that he could find her in a single moment if he wanted to, if he tried, he knew he had some questions he wanted answers to, which he could ask, if he tried… 

Though, Lucien also knew she didn’t have questions for him, nor did she want to find him, so… He doesn’t try. 

Elain is nearby, though that shouldn’t matter to him anymore should it?

* * *

_ A Person often meets his fate on the road he took to avoid it. _

_ _ \- Jean De La Fontaine _ _

* * *

When she returns to the manor house there seems to be a quiet kind of tension as she walks through the house to the study, still she feels that tug but it is for a few blocks away now. 

There are a few extra faeries travelling along now, carefully collecting up serving platters and ceremony in the way they hold themselves, they are here to serve, she’s seen it a million times and this only makes her hurry more. 

“Feyre?” She calls out as she turns the corner into the wide open expanse that faces the garden, her sister stands there, piles of paperwork, some books and more confusion, exhaustion, than Elain has seen on her face since… Since before, “What’s going on?”

Her younger sister reaches up and undoes the knot her hair is in, slowly easing it away from the pins put in it earlier until it’s just a braid leading down her back again, “We’re having a little trouble locating Queen Vassa, she was supposed to arrive around sunset.” 

Tentatively, Elain reaches out and presses her hand against Feyre’s forehead, her sister’s eyes widen in confusion as she pulls away from it, “You have a temperature.” She states plainly, before backing off, Feyre’s gaze doesn’t change and Elain knows it’s because she isn’t used to it, “Sit down Feyre, I saw Queen Vassa exploring the streets whilst I was running my errands, she’s fine.” 

“Elain, it’s not that simple-” Feyre begins to protest.

“Sit. Down.” She intakes the tone she remembers from the governesses in their youth, watching her sister falter, about to protest again, but Feyre shuts her mouth and sits down in her desk chair, “I’m telling Nuala and Cerriden to get you some tea.” 

She walks towards the door, watching her sister carefully, before turning back towards her sister, “What?” Feyre asks quietly as Elain cocks her head a bit. 

“...Don’t worry about it.” Is what she settles on saying, even as she notices the slight glow around her sister, or the fact that with the date Feyre should be curled up in bed complaining of more pain than ever. 

She undoes her cloak and slings it over her arm as she leaves, contemplating if she should tell Feyre she looks like she’s pregnant or not. 

* * *

She collects the tea service herself and waves the twins off, the guilt niggling at the back of her mind with memories of the shack of a cabin in the middle of winter aiding in the sudden drive to make sure her sister was okay. 

Rhysand is nowhere to be found, there’s a small part of her that’s glad he isn’t, it’s not that she doesn’t like him, she does… Well enough, but she doesn’t fear him as she can almost see many people do, not in the normal way people can be feared. 

Where the High Lord of the Night seemed to ruffle the feathers of no one but his Wife and his closest advisors, Elain felt nothing when he spoke, would feel nothing for as long as she knew him or so she believed, that could change of course, but who’s to say how. 

They’d both sent Nesta away last autumn, she’d forgiven Feyre, of course she had, how could she not. 

She levelled the blame at the High Lord, because he was only her brother in law. 

When she enters the study again, Feyre has her hands pressed to her face with her elbows on the desk, “You look exhausted.” 

“Thanks for stating the obvious.” Her sister grumbled, raising her face out of her hands to use them to move some of the paperwork so that Elain could set the tray down easier, “I’m not sure what it is, maybe it’s the fact that whilst Cassian says she’s made progress, Nesta hasn’t written or spoken a word to me in almost a year, maybe it’s the fact that I lost the one Mortal Queen who’s willing to ally with us or maybe it’s- I’m not usually this frazzled when it comes to stuff? You know I can handle it so why am I freaking out? Maybe I’m dehydrated-”

Elain sighs, the decision obvious as she pours the tea, “Or maybe it’s because you look to be pregnant.” 

This shuts Feyre up immediately, her lips closing with something audible in shock. 

She sets the teapot down again before Feyre shoots out of her chair with a yell. 

* * *

“Three hours.” 

“I said I was sorry.” 

“Three. HOURS.” Jurian emphasized again as they started up the stairs to the House of Wind, Vassa shrugged again, “I get wanting to explore but I swear to the Cauldron you could have done it in a way that didn’t require us to waste three hours.” 

Lucien is a few steps behind them on the purpose that they will keep bickering until they reach the top, even though he had offered to winnow them in, Vassa had stated that she liked climbing, Jurian preoccupied with the time wasted to really care but followed her lead anyway. 

If he’d insisted on the winnowing he could be back home now, setting up to take a bath, maybe lighting a fire and finding a book he could read in peace, quiet and solitude. 

“Are you two sure you don’t want me to winnow us up there?”

  
  
“That’s okay!” Vassa called as she continued upwards. 

Jurian didn’t falter behind her as he grit out, “It’s fine.” 

They both continued upwards and Lucien mourned for the bath that would never be. 

* * *

Rhysand was waiting halfway up the stairs, ever the stoic High Lord he didn’t even bat an eye at the fact they were doing this, instead he swooped into a bow, right there on the steps as if it were a perilous idea. 

Though, Lucien supposed it wasn’t given that the male had wings.

“Queen Vassa, your majesty.” He spoke in greeting, before setting himself back upright again in order look them all each in the eyes, “Jurian.” He nodded in acknowledgement, before finally turning to Lucien behind them both, “It’s good to see you safe Lucien, welcome home.” 

It was strange, watching both Vassa and Jurian’s posture stiffened a bit in accordance with his own at the mere mention of home, “It’s good to be back.” Is what he settles on saying, as Rhysand links his arms behind his back and smiles with an edge of cockiness, the King in disguise gone for a moment. 

“We were expecting you a few hours ago.” He says so plainly as he offers his hands, “Dinner is being served upstairs as we speak, shall we skip the climbing and go straight up?”

Vassa looked behind her at them both, before she sighed and placed her hand in Rhys’s, “I suppose we must, I was looking forward to the view getting better, Lucien you can take Jurian can’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, the polite court decorum was in her voice now, “I can.” He reached up and placed a hand on Jurian’s shoulder.

In a moment of darkness, Vassa and Rhysand were gone, himself and Jurian were quick to follow. 

* * *

  


No one changes for dinner, it’s a little informal as dinners go when you have visiting Royalty, but Lucien still sits in his travel clothes, as does Jurian and Vassa, both quite comfortable on the sofa until the dinner has finished being served. 

He’s glad to see that everyone else is quite casual in their attire as well, Mor crashes into the room in a plume of red silk and blonde curls all set free, “Sorry I’m late.” 

“We were later.” Lucien offers to her, now it was four of them, Mor takes a look around at Vassa and then Jurian, she smiles tightly at Jurian and Jurian raises his eyebrows back. 

Vassa stands, pushing herself to her feet, “Good evening!” She greets, walking towards Mor, “It’s lovely to see you again Morrigan, how have you been?” There was a charming edge to Vassa’s smile that made Lucien internally sigh, then wonder if Mor would reciprocate.

He wasn’t surprised to see that she did. 

Amren walked in next, swooping an uncharacteristic curtsy in front of Vassa before taking a seat next to the heath that was lit to warm the room, ever stoic, her eyes passed over them all before narrowing at Jurian. 

Vassa kept on talking to Mor, Mor for her credit kept up perfectly as the Queen detailed everything she’d seen so far in the city, how she danced in the streets, then Mor detailed that she’d have to join her next time she did so. 

Jurian leant over to him, “_ Are they flirting?” _

“_ Yes.” _Lucien replied as Vassa swooped a single finger down Mor’s shoulder with a twinkle in her eyes, they both resolved to leave them to it. 

Time ticked on, the smell of what was definitely roasted lamb wafting through the house with ease, as Amren straightened out her skirt a bit, the doors opened to see Azriel walk in carefully, nodding to them all in turn before settling down into the seat across from Lucien. 

Vassa bid a due to Mor and turned to observe the Spymaster, a new glint in her eyes, the same way she would look at a challenge, as if prepared to do whatever it took to see how he ticked. 

“_ Your majesty.” _Jurian’s whisper was barely audible, yet Vassa heard it as she turned away from Azriel back to them, as Jurian cleared his throat, “How are you?” He asks and if Lucien said it wasn’t awkward, he would be lying to the point that the cauldron would have to smite them all down. 

Ever the diplomat, Mor smiles, even if it’s forced, “We’ve all been well to my knowledge.” 

The silence takes up residence again, before the door opens for what must be the final time surely and Feyre walks in, opening her arms up and hugging him. 

“This is new.” He states plainly as Feyre continues to hug him, as she laughs, “You aren’t usually a hugger.” 

“I haven’t seen you in over a year, shut up and take my hug Lucien.” She replies easily, calmly, happily, before she lets go and turns to the rest of the room, “Dinner is served! Rhysand’s waiting in the dining room and Elain’s running late.” 

His mind reels quietly, at the mention of her name, but internally shakes it off, “You still seem to happy Feyre.” 

“How can I be too happy? I’m always happy… Okay, I hear it now, it is a bit weird.” She smiles as Lucien offers her his arm, which she takes with little hesitation, “I’m starving, I could smell dinner when it was cooking earlier.”

The awkward air will surely follow them through the house, but Feyre seems all but oblivious to it. 

* * *

She doesn’t know why she goes through her wardrobe twice, it is bustling with dresses, she only needs to pick one. 

Which is weird because she hasn’t chosen one yet, she just has too many choices and it had absolutely nothing to do with who she knew would be waiting at that dinner, nothing to do with it at all. 

She peers at the blue satin, but turns away to stare at a sweetheart neckline number, dressed in soft pink silk the same colour as peonies that matched her skin tone well enough. 

Maybe this would do? It would do, she didn’t have anyone to impress after all, absolutely nobody. 

She grabs it, it would do… Now how to do her hair? Up? Down? Halfway? A braid? 

This was all pointless anyway, who cared how she wore her hair? 

She did, she cared. 

Elain turned sharp and fast to the mirror, peering at herself, normally, she didn’t like doing this, normally she’d put on the dress and walk away without another thought.

But today, she studies herself, her long neck, sloping down into her small, lilithe frame, her breasts that sat comfortably but dragged down a little under the weight, supported by a plain piece of lingine, her pinkish porcelain skin, she was a little skinnier than she used to be but she focused on the one thing that was different above all else. 

Tentatively, she scoops her hair behind her ears, her fae ears, they no longer sloped, they were pointed outwards, in a wide berth from her head, curving upwards like nothing she’d ever seen on a human. 

They were the mark of fae above all else, the mark of High Fae even more so. 

She eases her dress on, carefully lacing it up the back, it was a more mortal lands style to a lot of the others in Velaris, but she liked it because it reminded her of what once was.

And what would no longer be. 

* * *

Dinner, surprisingly goes smoothly, Vassa is beautiful, Jurian is polite, he attempts to crack a joke and the Queen gets him to recover. 

He would be lying if he said that Elain hadn’t taken up more than a little of his attention when she sat down to Feyre’s left at the other end of the dinner table, hair ruffled slightly in downward curls, face curved and small, delicate grace in her every movement as she ate and interacted with everyone now and again.

She’s quiet in comparison to some of the voices at the table, exchanging words with whoever she desires, which seems to be almost everyone but him and curiously, Rhysand. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Vassa begins as the main course is whisked away, “will Nesta Archeron not be joining us this evening? I wanted to meet her again, she was quite interesting.” 

This is what causes the table to fall silent, as Lucien levels his gaze at her carefully, “Didn’t I tell you?” He asks softly to her and Vassa shakes her head, her hair becoming a small mess of red curls, he looks to his left, towards where Feyre has paused with her glass halfway to her lips. 

“My sister is on an exile charge.” She breathes, his friend gone, the High Lady all that remains. 

Blue eyes blink, once twice, “I see, may I ask for what?”

And just like that, the table is silent and the awkwardness is slowly returning. 

“I’m afraid that’s information we’d like to keep to ourselves.” Rhysand interjects, as he does so a harder edge enters Vassa’s eyes, but she doesn’t push it any more as desert arrives. 

It is a slice of what is undoubtedly blackberry pie, only just in season and it’s deliciously made with rich fruit, warm buttery crust and a good helping of cinnamon baked in with it.

No more than a few polite words are exchanged, he finishes his wine and silently wishes it was something stronger instead. 

Everything goes smoothly in the end, which he breathes a sigh of relief over as Vassa and Jurian are escorted to their rooms for the time being. 

Feyre taps his shoulder and holds up a bottle of rich amber liquid that makes his stomach flip, “Drink?” She asks. 

“_ Please.” _

* * *

Feyre only pours one glass when she hands it to him, “Can’t drink.” She states plainly and he raises his eyebrows, before she waves him off, “Tell you later, tell me about the mortal lands and drink for me.” 

He downs it and holds the glass out, “Oh, Feyre you will not believe the shit I’ve seen over the last year and a half.” 

She poured him another glass without hesitation, “Try me.” 

“Okay so, first things first, there hasn’t been much in the way of fun because frankly I’ve been around as the third party to a two party manteene.” He cradles the glass, ready to take this one slower, “For instance, we got halfway up the stairs before Rhysand showed up and they were bickering all the way up.” 

Feyre lies down against the adjacent sofa, closing her eyes and humming to tell him she was listening, hands coming to rest against her stomach, “So, are you suggesting that there’s something between Vassa ad Jurian?”

“There’s affection from both sides whether they see it or not, though Vassa enjoys not being tied down to a specific person.” He reaches behind him and slides his hair out of it’s tie as he takes a sip of his drink, Feyre pops one eye open and raises her eyebrow, “Other than that, we used the loop hole emassing and connecting the armies to keep Vassa out here for as long as we could.”

Both her eyes open now, “But, you’ve run out of time.” 

“One month, we have a month to put breaking her curse into motion properly.” Her lips twisted in time with her brows, a look of contemplation and confusion he hasn’t seen in awhile, “Other than that? The Mortal lands at the bottom of Prythian are more smoothly running, better than ever really, they’ll be picking a body to represent them at court on the main land soon enough.” 

He finishes this drink too, when she offers him another he holds up a hand, “Really? We have plenty.” 

“I’d like to be sober enough to winnow home and not end up in the river.” She laughs, happy with the image it would seem. 

Feyre’s smile is wide and easy, “Welcome home Lucien, I’ve missed having some sanity.”

“If I’m what you consider sanity, everything in the world is worse than we thought.”

* * *

_ You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today _

_ _ -Abraham Lincoln _ _

* * *

She dreams of meadows with shadows cast by wide, tall and twisting branches of trees filled with a multitude of colours, the sunlight shining through them to reflect those colours back onto the ground. 

There is something, _ someone _she’s chasing through the grove, someone laughing happily, taunting her, teasing her with flirtatious intentions leaking into the tone, a soft melodiac soft that brimmed with mischief and promise. 

As she turns the person she’s chasing as come to a stop and she fights to not bowl them both over as a blonde haired female fae smiles at her with a delicate twist of her lips with laughter in her eyes as if nothing else is important in this world anymore but her. 

“Isn’t this grove beautiful?” It’s a question, but no answer comes to her lips, “I would think someone ought to have their way with me in a place like this.” 

Elain cannot tell if she is joking or not, with the way her green eyes seem to shine, she knows that she isn’t. 

“The sun feels amazing through the leaves.” She falls backwards onto the ground, her blonde curls becoming a halo of sorts as her tanned beige skin seems to take on the same quality as the leaves she lands in, an angel of the autumn. 

Her eyes fall closed slowly, she looks so peaceful. 

As Elain lies next to her, sliding her hand in the female’s, she closes her eyes, feeling so peaceful for the first time in a long time. 

When she opens them she’s on her knees, something heavy holding her down, she tries to look but all she sees is red hair and a crowd almost feral as they scream, across from her on the ground, also on her knees is the female. 

Her eyes are pleading as they look at her, fear in her irises as an axe was raised, the crowd’s screams grew louder and something ripped from their throat. 

A scream unlike any other, hope gone, lost, pleading, waiting wading but it would not come. 

For those blonde curls became matted with blood when the head hit the ground between them.

* * *

The scream is silent as it tears through her throat into the waking world with her, her chest heavy, tears streaming from her eyes, she cannot see as she sits up because there’s no explanation for what she saw. 

Because she was not the one who saw or dreamt it, remembered it- Oh the blood -her heart aches in an almost painful way 

She flings off her covers and runs to her window, desperately clawing at the latch on it so it would open, her fingers slip a few times but she feels that _ Tug _in her head just once and gets the window open, she doesn’t fling it like she’d intended to. 

The cool early morning air hits her face and it’s like a cold wash of reality, the grief still lingering in her bones like the worst wine she’d ever tasted, roiling in her stomach like off cheese. 

She takes a single deep breath and holds it, then she lets it go as she closes her eyes. 

It is back- The blood in those curls, the green eyes and her heart aches harder, faster, more grief-stricken than ever before. 

Elain wants to cry, scream for a person she has never known in her life before, but knows is oh so important to Lucien who sits crying in his apartment somewhere. 

She wants to cry, because she doesn’t know what else to do. 

And so she does, the tears come freely as she slides down to the floor to sit in front of the window, crying for a fae female she has never even met, nor knows the name of. 

* * *

Sunlight is streaming in the air when she stops crying, finally echoing a single, calming sob, it sounds a little distant as she raises her head up to look at the ceiling, her hair falling out of the tight braid she puts it in to sleep. 

She undoes it quickly in precise moments until her hair waves around her in a cloud of honey brown before she stands, pushing herself up off of the floor quietly and then turns to the window to watch the sunrise. 

The rays climb slowly, with each one that she can see coming to rest on the gardens of the Riverfront her heartbeat slows more, her face aches a bit less and her breathing evens out carefully. 

Elain takes another deep breath before she turns away from the window, instead towards her bathroom and the shower. 

She needs one now, just to rid herself of the feeling that comes with lack of sleep. 

* * *

With each jug of hot water he pours on his head, the grief lessens itself again, gearing up to disappear when he reaches the final jug and let it crash upon his skin, his joints before setting it aside and sliding down into the hot water of his well deserved bath. 

His apartment is what he would normally consider blissfully silent, but there, waiting in the silence is that pull, that nasty little being that curves through the silence to make him doubt, to make him rethink and he never can be rid of it. 

It prods with the nightmare, the images he wants to forget because they hurt, they horrify him to a degree they have before and he knows he should be used to it, should be able to live with it… But when you go so long without seeing it, the moment it reappears it is devastating. 

He doesn’t need to ask, he knows she was there, watching it all, it almost wasn’t fair when he thought about it, that he had to put her through this as well as himself, it’s bad enough it sticks around in his head... But Elain’s… 

Taking a deep breath, Lucien deposits himself under the surface of the water in a minute, opening his eyes to watch the world through the fluid, murky and muffled view above him. 

He counts to five and surfaces, pushing his hair out of his face almost immediately after it sticks to his cheeks. 

His mind is still reeling as he climbs out of his bath and wraps a towel around himself, moving towards his bedroom again. 

The apartment was modest, a single bedroom, small living room, a small kitchen and a bathroom with a claw footed bathtub that he loved to sit in. 

Carefully, he moves to dry his hair, he needed to dress for the day, it was going to be a long one in meetings with Rhysand for the first time in awhile, discussing the positioning of the new city that would line where the wall had once been as a method of protection built into the tree line without disturbing any of the natural flora. 

They just needed the funds and the extra workers to put on it for its completion, which would be overlooked by Jurian whilst he… 

He… 

Lucien didn’t know what would happen next for him after this, Vassa had an escort coming for her at the end of the month from her captor if they couldn’t break it in time. 

He rubs his head as he moves his hair again, shaking it as he went, there had to be something to save his friend, but there was nothing in his head but silent determination on the part of that trauma. 

_ Focus, _ he thought to himself, _ fuck off _he told the memories of the nightmare, before he turned to his armoire and fetched out his designated outfit that he labelled as his ‘Uniform’ for all his Emissary duties. 

There would be time to dwell on it with the Queen herself this evening, before dinner and the late night drinking she’d bring him into partaking with her, he’d bring Feyre along as well, someone had to have an idea concerning how to break it. 

They had to break it. 

* * *

  


Her hands shake when she tries to dig place to put the newly delivered forget me nots, her mind boggles as she feels that ever present tether in her head pulling her back towards the house as the day goes on. 

She tilts her head to the side to catch the sun across her face, just to think about something else, anything else but then- Oh, the vision of the woman in the sunlight is back, curling and twisting, waiting and wanting. 

So Elain listens, closes her eyes and drops the spade, her hands still shaking, she takes a deep breath and on the first try, she can hear the steady beating as it enters the estate house behind. 

Whirling to her feet and towards it she stops, eyes open as she watches the house, looks at the brick work along the back of it, to the wide open glass doors of the study where her sister and Rhysand stand softly talking and Elain watches as the door is pushed open on the inside, he comes in Night Court colours. 

His hair is loose and for a moment she longs to push it away from his face and ask about the nightmare, to ask if he was okay, to ask if his head was still reeling like hers, if his hands were shaking with the pure rage that someone so innocent had died for no reason- 

She takes a deep breath, then turns away from the study doors, gets down on her knees again and continues gardening as if there was nothing wrong, as if that male wasn’t standing mere feet away from her. 

Her hands still shake, but she makes do. 

* * *

There are eyes on her, watching her from somewhere and when she turns her head to look she sees a bird perched on the edge of the Estate’s roof, carefully walking along and surveying the area. 

Her wings flapped and Elain held in a gasp, she’d seen Vassa in her cursed form before, but not in broad daylight, when her feathers looked less like actual feathers and more like fire blazing through a forest at breakneck speeds, raging and twisting. 

When Vassa takes off, Elain watches her swoop, spin and dive in the sky as she gets higher from Velaris, from the ground. 

She burns like nothing else but that fire, balling, angry and hot. 

“She’s beautiful.” Elain starts when the male voice speaks in awe, turning to see a mortal man, who she could vaguely remember as Jurian, his eyes were focused in on the Queen as she flew, lips tugging slightly as a spark seemed to ignite in those eyes, then he blinks and turns to face away from the sky, “I must have startled you.”

Her eyebrows furrow of their own accord, “That’s one way to put it.” Her mind runs through everything she knows about this man, there is not a lot she recalls liking about him, he seems to remember something and takes a step back before bowing. 

“Lady Archeron.” His tone is even, as he keeps the bow for a moment longer before rising, “I’m sorry for my actions towards you in the past, I’m glad we can meet under less dire standings.” 

Stunned, Elain blinks and leans over a little herself, “There’s really no need to bow-” 

“No, I have surely wronged you, both in battle and in court, you are of a high noble standing and I-”

Elain cannot help but interrupt him, “You are speaking in manners that would more befit a _ Mortal Court, _why so?” Her voice slips into the same polite up keep, despite not living in that society for over two years. 

“Her Majesty caught me up, my lack of manners wasn’t helpful when dealing with the Nobles in the Mortal Lands.” He simply replies, choosing this moment to rise out of his bow, “I didn’t greet you as such at dinner for we were all caught up in the lamb.”

Despite herself, she finds her lips quirking, “You are forgiven for the lack of proper greeting, General.” 

“Major General, her Majesty felt I deserved a higher rank in her court, a more modern one.” He seems a little shy as he corrects her and her smile comes in full, “I do apologise again, my Lady.” 

She swoops down into a curtsy, she has not done it in awhile but it feels so much more comfortable, despite the fact that she stumbles a little bit, “It is accepted, not in full however since I am sure you will attempt to make it up to me as we have much time to do so.” 

“Indeed, my Lady.” 

It is with that sentence that Elain bursts into a chortle, the kind that slowly roars into laughter, that echoes across her gardens and into the study to capture attention. 

* * *

His ears perk up almost immediately when he hears a sweet melodic laughter that echoes straight into and in turn completely disrupts the meeting before them. 

Which is to say, the meeting that hadn’t really began as Jurian was nowhere to be found as of yet. 

But the moment her laughter reached his ears, his attention was gone and he could see both the High Lord and High Lady pause themselves to note it gone.

He looks and sees Elain almost collapsing in laughter as Jurian stands opposite her in silent confusion, as if he didn’t know how he caused the reaction.

“Is that Jurian?” Feyre asks, half in worry and half in astonishment, “How on earth did he find his way to the gardens?”

_ Vassa, _Lucien thinks, but doesn’t say, he wonders if she led him in that direction, “Must have gotten lost, he doesn’t have the senses we do and this is quite the estate.” He cocks his head towards the two in the garden, “Though, he seems to have made Elain laugh.”

“I don’t remember him having a lot of humour.” Rhysand drawls, leaning against the desk, whilst Feyre leant back in her chair, both following his gaze, as Elain seems to start to calm down now, before bursting into laughter again. 

Feyre smiles, softly, “I haven’t heard her laugh like that in awhile.” 

Lucien had never heard her laugh like that, “Someone should probably go and fetch Jurian...Possibly Lady Elain as well, now that I think about it would she want to know what’s going on in the mortal lands?”

When he turns away to look at them both fully, Feyre is considering him, it’s strange that he can find the different switches for the different assets of his friend’s personality, right now it flickers between Feyre, who cares for her family and the High Lady whose power is intimidating, perhaps more so than her husband.

She stands with grace and walks out into the Garden, calling out for them and Elain’s head seems to whip around very quickly. 

Though, it isn’t Feyre’s eyes whom her gaze meets first. 

It lasts all but a second before she turns her gaze to her approaching sister, but it’s enough for his heart to skip a beat and for the desire to just _ know _Elain appear in the forefront of his mind again. 

He turns his own gaze away from her, back to the map lying out on the table, determined to focus on work and not how much he would have liked to be the one who made her laugh. 

* * *

Five minutes later sees Jurian going over everything he has planned for the new development, Lucien chiming in now and again to talk about the funding for the project, with Feyre growing interested in the exacts of what they have planned. 

And Elain, sitting patiently in an armchair, calmly listening to them talk, her eyes on the map lines. 

Every few seconds he feels as if he’s being watched, but doesn’t inquire as it would seem that the moment he takes notice, the gaze leaves his back and returns where it’s first assumed position was. 

Though, once again, Elain surprises him by standing up and walking those two quick steps to push in between him and Jurian, he knows that Feyre is shocked as well, though she does a better job of covering it up as Elain starts to run a finger through the definite lines on the map, then she turns to Jurian and simply asks. 

“Will you have Gardens?” Her voice is held in a genuine question, Jurian blinks, then looks past her to him, then back to her again as her lips quirk up into a smile, “I don’t remember him being this nervous.” She states bluntly to… 

_ Oh, _she states it to Lucien with a curl to her lips that leaves this half flip in his stomach, “He got a soul and suddenly basic communication is harder.” Is what he finds himself replying and is awarded with a small half smile that disappears as she seems to look embarrassed at her choice of words in a single heartbeat, “It’s alright,” He returns quickly, “Vassa has said far worse to him.” 

Her shoulders seem to relax a little at his words, before she turns back to the map and away from him, their arms are both perched on the desk closely, so when she moves her arm just grazes his and he wonders why the spot feels warm for those few seconds. 

Before Jurian has come to his senses and starts talking about how there are some spots he’d quite like to set up some community gardens in and Elain’s attention is stolen for the rest of the morning. 

Her arm doesn’t really move again, so it still rests a little against his. 

  


* * *

_ W _ _ e are to be strong in faith, and soft in love. _

_ _ -John Stott _ _

* * *

There’s no other way to say it really, she loves the ideas, the plans, the direction they are taking what was once her homeland. 

Her eyes ran along the lines they drew for where new villages would be built, where they were planning to expand the forests with new plantations, the rebuilding plans and she’s in love with every word Lucien says on the matter. 

But it makes her heart ache for the loss of her life there, despite the happiness that spreads through her chest as they start to talk about the planned gardens, though she listens. 

She listens, finding she quite enjoys the sound of two people letting her interject where she liked. 

Finally, it is agreed that they should break for lunch, Elain bowed her head and was about to set out the door back out into the garden until- 

“Elain, would you show Jurian and Lucien around your gardens after lunch?” Feyre’s tone was obvious in what she was suggesting and in this moment, Elain knew she would sell her sister for a single pebble. 

Almost immediately, Lucien protested, “She doesn’t have to do that, I’m sure Jurian got a good look earlier and I can always go for a walk by myself later.” There’s this momentary sting at his words, but she shakes it off as she turns to leave again, “Besides,” He says it more quietly now, “I don’t believe Lady Elain wants to stay in the same room as me for very long.”

She doesn’t know why she pauses in midstep, perhaps it was something about his tone, his manner, the almost defeat that hung in his shoulders that made her reply.

“I can do it, though I just need to eat first.” 

Lucien whirls to face her in a moment, her eyes follow the elegant movement that he makes, the slight spray of his hair, the hint of the midday sun making the gold in his skin more apparent, her pulse quickens ever so slightly by the look in his eyes that screams disbelief.

“How does two o’clock sound?” She offered, then stopped again as she considered something else, “Nevermind, how about seven? Then I can take her Majesty with us.” 

Rhysand seems to look at her sister quietly, she knows they are talking about her, but not what they’re saying. It is a little unnerving. 

Jurian jumps on the chance though, “Queen Vassa would love that, she was saying how she’d like to see you again one on one, My Lady.” 

He’s so polite, for a moment she wants to laugh again, “Then we’ll have lunch and reconvein in the Garden this evening.” She bows her head a little bit, then turns and exits back out into the Garden. 

All the while trying to ignore the need to turn around and take one last look at Lucien’s golden, almost made of sunlight, awfully and really quite frustratingly handsome face. 

* * *

“You know you look like a fool when she’s in the room right?”

“Says the man she laughed at for a good five minutes- What did you even say to her? You aren’t even funny.” Lucien didn’t keep the mean tease within his words at bay and Jurian noticed, glowering in return. 

They were alone in the corridor lined with Feyre’s paintings, they were scattered all over the house, but these were in a selection of neat rows. 

A forest, painted to depict it in the winter, snow on the ground dead leaves scattered here and there… Then he saw the wolf, shrouded in the shadows. 

Lucien turned his gaze away and started walking. 

“The High Lady is very talented isn’t she?” Jurian remarked, stopping himself in front of a painting that depicted mountains rising into the night sky as shooting stars seemed to climb higher on top of it, “It’s almost like I’m looking out a window and not at a canvas.” 

He doesn’t answer, knowing Jurian is lingering for a reason that he simply doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

“Lady Elain seems less averse to your company than you made her out to be.” There’s this thread of seriousness that Lucien isn’t unfamiliar with hearing in his tone, but yet there remains more teasing, it sounds more like Vassa than anything else. 

Jurian catches up to him and claps a hand on his shoulder, “Are we eating with the High Lord and High Lady?” He asks, “Or, shall we seek out one of those places you never failed to mention to us back in the Mortal lands?”

“We’ll join the Night Court, it’s polite.” 

“Polite isn’t often a word in your vocabulary.” 

“Shut up.” 


End file.
